The Ol' One-Two
by devotedmuse
Summary: There are three universal truths in Harlem: the first, that everyone wants to be king; second, politics is power; and third, that the key to a good lie runs parallel to the truth. Shades Alvarez is aware of these truths, in fact, not only does he live his life by them, he swears no one can play the game better. That is until he crosses paths with Jo Williams.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Well, it's not my first rodeo but it is my first Shades fic. Trust me when I say I have great plans for this story.

I own nothing but the side characters, his intentions, and for awhile your attention. For visuals, you can view my art board on Pinterest. Enjoy.

* * *

 **New Reign**

Running a nightclub wasn't part of the plan.

Sitting at the head of a large mahogany desk, Shades Alvarez stared at the wall across from him, fingers steepled in deep contemplation. After Diamondback's failed attempt to crush Luke Cage physically and mentally, Harlem's Paradise was once again up for grabs. Just as Shades had once mentioned to Cornell Stokes, the club could be sold, gaining a cool fee. But Mariah was attached to the club, that is Cornell's memory. Not only that, but the club did have its advantages, providing a solid front for arms dealing. So, the nightclub remained, reopening for the umpteenth time with new décor and talent.

Caught by the bands smooth cover of Killing Me Softly, Shades took his gaze off the wall and glanced toward the window.

That is where Cornell had failed; he surrounded himself with his biggest distraction: music. Granted the man had been gifted on the piano, hands taking to the keys like a prodigy, fate had guided him another way. On more than one occasion Shades had tried to direct Cornell's attention elsewhere. The man wouldn't hear of it.

 _"I tell you what," Cornell had told him, deep baritone vibrating off the walls. "You worry about Diamondback, and I'll handle the club and all its affairs."_

 _The bastard truly thought he could handle all the operations from drugs to weaponry and never lose focus,_ Shades mused to himself. Blinking, his gaze went to the piano still tucked away in the corner. _That was a plan that went straight to hell!_

Cornell did not lose focus per se but made the crucial mistake of placing his haven in the lion's den. He mixed business with pleasure, too many times to remain unfazed. Thus, he grew attached to the physical building, nearly blowing a previous deal and turning the business sour well before it's time.

Shades wasn't that kind of man. Business was business, pleasure was pleasure. There was equal time slotted to both parties and they did not mix, not in his book. Not ever.

So, with what little care he could muster, the club had been renovated, walls repainted, new furnishings and countertop for the bar, for no other reason than to keep up with the façade. After all, music wasn't his weakness. New hires came next, bartenders, waitresses, entertainers, security. Didn't matter how many times a gun went off in the building, people flocked to the nightclub like a moth to a flame, seeking nothing but a drink of choice and a high thrill that only his kind of living could provide.

Pushing away from the desk, he strolled toward the window on black oxfords that were polished to a shine.

Sunglasses forever in place, he looked out at the crowd.

For all that the club had experienced, make that all the deaths and destruction that had taken place, it was never short of visitors. Women danced with their girlfriends, enjoying the night and the music while men tried to make a pass for more. A rare few came for the entertainment and they could always be found either at the table off to the side, or standing against the wall, heads nodding to the beat.

Glancing toward the bar, he watched as Lawrence, the bartender, all but danced across the counter as he rushed to make the customers' orders.

Lawrence was a good kid, good looking, tall and sporting a fade. He was only 22, but by the looks of it, you would think he had been making drinks since he could walk, he had the knack for it: fast hands, flirty persona. The only problem was that he was taking more than his fair share.

The news of Lawrence's sticky fingers had come from Quincy, a close second of Shades. Come tonight, Lawrence would be given the option of returning the money, all if it including interest.

Rubbing his hands together, Shades could already hear the excuses that Lawrence would give and the promises he would make.

While Lawrence would think that returning the fee would save his life, it wouldn't. Shades wasn't one for second chances or holding onto someone who couldn't be trusted or used for personal gain. So, once the money was repaid, and it would be repaid, Lawrence would become another forgotten face. Out of sight and out of mind, forgotten by Shades and the world.

"Come in," he commanded when a knock sounded at the door.

In came Quincy, moving with a swagger that turned many a head. "My man!" He called, making the corners of Shades mouth turn up.

"What can I do you for, Splash?" Shades answered, his eyes still glued to Lawrence.

Quincy chuckled at the mention of his nickname. Splash. First guess one would claim it was due to his choice of clothing: primarily black or gray with a pop of color in the form of a loud coat or patterned vest. The truth of the matter was that he was called Splash for the work he did. Behind the upbeat personality and Colgate smile, Quincy was a fighter, and brutal. Wherever he went, he left his mark, a trademark crimson splash.

Smoothing out his navy waistcoat, Quincy moved to stand beside Shades and tucked his hands into his charcoal gray slacks. "We tending bar tonight?" He asked casually.

Shades nodded his head. "Yeah, but we'll play it cool. Let him know the severity of the situation yet give him hope." Translation: beat him but let him live to work off his debt.

"I can deal with that."

Briefly, Quincy looked at the crowd before looking to Shades. "Anyone else we need to take care of?"

"Given the amount of attention Harlem's been given due to Luke Cage, most of the players are laying low. The Haitians, Dominicans, Puerto Ricans, all in search of new bosses thanks to their failed assassination of Diamondback. And with the King himself in the hospital, Harlem is as good as ours."

"What about Mariah?"

Finally, he had Shades' full attention.

Granted they had known each other for years, Quincy could never shake the sliver of unease he would feel when Shades stared at him through his dark glasses. It couldn't be helped. An enigma, Shades was a man of quiet intensity and you never knew what to expect as he could do everything: laugh, murder, maim with or without a smile, with or without reaction of any kind.

"To Mariah politics is power," Shades told him. "This," he said motioning to the club, "isn't her thing. Though if I'm to speak for her, she'll keep this place running to keep Cornell's memory, and to milk the tragic death for all it's worth.

"Just like with her cousin, a portion of what we make in our endeavors will go to her, in hopes of advancing her political career. We play this smart, though," he continued with a nod. "All of Cornell's men, off my roster. I'll be callin' up a few of the boys from our crew. I'm trusting them to keep what men we do have in line and to keep an eye on that Robo Cop, Misty Knight."

"From what I hear, she'll need more than a watchful eye to stay in line," Quincy interjected with a grin.

Having seen new bruises on his boy, Quincy had questioned him. Not thinking, or too trusting, Shades had answered him. Quincy hadn't let him live it down since. Now Shades was torn between laughing at his misfortune and pushing his friend through the window.

"I'm just sayin'," Quincy drawled with a twinkle in his eye, "I don't want her to, oh, I don't know, beat some poor man's ass!"

Shades narrowed his eyes. "Shut. Up."

Quincy held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, my bad. I'm sorry."

"Can we get back to our discussion, please?"

"Shoot."

"Like I was saying," Shades said through clenched teeth when Quincy giggled, "we keep an on eye Ms. Knight, keep the fallen King, Diamondback, in caring hands at the hospital, and make sure Luke Cage remains at Seagate. If we keep those three things in check, Mariah happy and complacent, all of Harlem will be…"

"Ours," Quincy finished.

Light splashed on Shades glasses as he smiled. "Exactly." He wasn't so pressed for power that he couldn't divide his kingdom with a trusted friend and ally.

"Well, as the new Chief of Command," Quincy began earning him a laugh, "I say we enjoy the night."

Already Shades was shaking his head no. "You know me better than that."

"I do. But have you looked at what's before you?" Quincy asked. Stretching out his arms he cried, "Beauty, rhythm, and ass as far as the eye can see!"

Laughing deep in his chest, Shades could do nothing else but smile. Quincy was someone who knew that life was short and took his pleasures when they could be found.

"See, now that right there is bad for business."

"Me?" Quincy said in mock innocence, hands on his chest. "My zest for life is bad for business? Never!"

Looking to the crowd, Shades waived a dismissive hand at everything before him. "All of this is bad for business."

Pointing to a random woman flirting with Julio, one of the many staffed with security, he added. "Since I've been here, Julio has had a different girl every night dangling from his arm when he should be watching the club. Now, because he pulls his weight and nothing has yet to happen, he's still standing. But night after night he stays longer at the bar, collecting numbers. And you know what happens next?" Quincy shook his head no. "He gets the number and catches a case; either a girl from the night before, or few days past ventures back to the club and raises hell."

As if on cue commotion sounded from below.

Both men watched as a busty brunette pushed at a Julio before turning on the redhead beside him. No doubt words were thrown, which wouldn't have been a problem until they saw the brunette reach for a bottle.

"Oh, damn. Girls got an arm on her," Quincy observed when the bottle missed the target and knocked out an innocent bystander.

"See what happens when you find your pleasure in your place of business?" Sighing deeply, Shades moved past Quincy, heading for the door.

"I'm beginning to understand," Quincy returned, exiting the office behind Shades. Closing the door, he caught sight of a waitress in the VIP area. "Yet then again… Life is short."

Ignoring his friend's exasperated sigh, Quincy rested his arm on his Shades' shoulder. "You've always had your head deep in the game, man, playing to win. There's nothin' wrong with that. All I'm sayin' is that you need to loosen up a bit, enjoy the halftime show that goes with the game."

His pearls of wisdom had no effect. "Wonderful," Shades exclaimed. "Beautiful analogy, really, Splash."

Waiving his comment away, Quincy changed the topic and asked, "Need me to help you downstairs?"

"No, I'll take care of it." Shades moved through the VIP section. "Enjoy your distraction," he called over his shoulder.

"Will do, brotha. Will do."

 **...xXx... ...xXx... ...xXx...**

Serving trays skidded to the floor as Julio tumbled into the kitchen.

Work came to a standstill as the kitchen staff watched with horrified eyes as Shades disciplined Julio.

"L-look, I didn't know that would happen,' Julio stuttered, too afraid to even pick himself up off the ground.

Gliding across the immaculate floor, Shades stared down his nose at Julio. "Don't try it," he warned. "Don't tell me a lie you can't make me believe."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Julio opened his mouth to issue an apology and snapped it shut. What could he say? He knew the word on the street, knew how Shades operated, his temper. Hell, he knew that he had been pushing it with his girls, that sooner or later he would be pulled aside. Though sadly that's all he expected, a warning. That was a stupid thought; no warning would come from a man like Shades, just a death certificate or a punch in the face if he was feeling generous. And as horrifying a thought a punch to the face would be, from someone who could illicit so much damage, it was exactly was Julio was hoping for, that is if things had to truly get physical.

Scrambling up to his feet, Julio made to put distance between them and came up short when he bumped into a metal table.

"I'm s-sorry, Shades," he rushed to say, sweat dotting his brow. "It won't happen again."

It was so unnerving, that silence. It had to have been a dozen people in that kitchen, all of them frozen. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if Julio could just see Shades' eyes, be given that bit of insight into the man's state of mind. Was he annoyed or pissed? He couldn't tell. No one could tell.

"I'm going to need you to tell me that again," Shades said breaking the tense silence.

"Tell y-you what again?" Julio blurted out, fear making him dimwitted.

Removing his sunglasses, Shades rubbed at his brow. "What you said just seconds ago, that you're sorry and it will never happen again." With a single blink, his eyes clashed with Julio's making the man's spine go ramrod straight as fear clutched at his heart.

"Go on," Shades persisted, "tell me again."

Eyes were the gateway to the soul. Shades lived in a rough and tough neighborhood, growing up before his time. Hell, he even spent time in prison! He had seen things: murders, theft, pimps and their whores working the tired streets. He had seen the best of liars and heard the worst of them. Yet here he was, with eyes that had lived for several lifetimes, seeing their fair share of horrors, looking at Julio with an unblinking gaze, telling him without words, 'I already know you're telling me the truth, I just want to scare you, to drive the point home.'

Licking his dry lips, Julio nervously eyed the small crowd around them. When Shades eyebrows went up he snapped his attention back to him. "I'm sorry, Shades. I'll never do it again."

Coming in even closer, Shades stared the man down, gazing at him until Julio lowered his gaze to Shades chest in defeat.

"Hmm," Shades hummed. Sunglasses back in place, he gave Julio a small grin. "Remember what you said, Julio because I won't forget it. That bottle, that bystander's injuries, all of it is coming out of your pay.

"Starting tonight you'll be switching positions with Victor. I think a cold alley is just what you need to get your head in the game, correct?"

"Yes," Julio answered quickly.

Taking a step back, Shades gifted him with a smile. "Then I guess we're all finished here." Turning on his heel he took two steps forward and paused. "Oh, there is just one more thing."

Every gangster had their weapon of choice and for Shades it was his fists. One punch, just one, sent Julio's head snapping back with a loud crack! As the kitchen staff cried out in alarm, Shades watched as Julio slumped to the ground, out cold before he even touched the floor.

"Drag him out into the alley," Shades instructed turning on his heel. "Let the chill of the air be his wake-up call."

Making his way back down the hall and out onto the dance floor, Shades glanced once more at the bar, pleased all commotion had died down and the guests were once more enjoying themselves. Catching Lawrence looking at him, he forced a grin, giving a slight head nod. _You're next._

With the swagger and innate charm that all gangsters were famed for, he moved through the crowd. Knowing who he was, the crowd parted for him like the red sea. A few people called out to him, security nodding their heads while a few women sending flirtatious smiles his way. That, all of that, had been the call, the bittersweet lure that pulled him into this way of life. How quick one outgrew it when you realized that the higher up you moved, the dirtier the jobs were, the uglier the people. It became apparent that the only thing to be valued was the loyalty of a few good men, and I mean a few good men, the strength of your fists, and the ability to weave the truth with a clever lie.

Licking his lips, he made to head for the stairs leading to the VIP section and made the sweetest mistake ever by turning his head and glancing up to the balcony.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

The only thing better than black is gold. High up on the balcony a woman stood with her hair pulled back into an intricate twist, her rich dark brown skinned beautifully illumined by the overhead lights, wearing a gold dress that stole his breath away. The dress itself was finely made with thin straps that crisscrossed across her chest and neck, form fitting, ending just before her knee. One hand on the railing, the other holding a glass, she rocked her head to the beat of the music, becoming in that moment the epitome of neo-soul.

Drawn like a moth to a flame, Shades felt his feet moving, hurrying, in her direction before he could even register what he was doing. Perhaps she sensed that, that invisible connection that happens so rarely in life because she turned her head in his direction. Their eyes clashed.

Everything went silent.

No longer could Shades hear the band or the clicking of women's heels on the dance floor. Nor could he see anything except for her. Lips parting in surprise, Shades felt a delicious thrill run up and down his spine, making him roll his shoulders back and lick his lips in reaction. _Just who the hell was she?_ He wondered to himself. Not only had she stolen his attention, made him stop dead in his track like some lovesick boy, but she had—his eyes widened in disbelief. _Did she just…? She did._ With a single blink of her eyes, she looked away, dismissing him silently and returning her attention to the stage.

 _Well, that was a mistake,_ he concluded. He wasn't the type of man to be ignored, especially after experiencing what had just passed between them. _No,_ he went on to himself, lips curving into a smirk. _That kind of feeling deserves an introduction_.

"I think someone has his eye on you, Jo."

Joanne 'Jo' Williams couldn't hold back the spark that entered her eyes at the words of her friend Annett. While she, Jo, wasn't a vain woman, she knew her appeal. A few men had taken a chance, tried to garner her attention yet she brushed them off, wanting to enjoy the night out with her girls to celebrate her return to Harlem from Los Angeles.

Because Annett knew one of the bouncers, she had gotten them upstairs to the VIP section. Everything had been well, that is until she felt eyes on her.

Harlem was small in the way that gossip could spread. Didn't matter how long she had been away, Annett and the others, Shondra and Diane, were quick to fill her in: telling her about the death of Cornell Stokes, a bulletproof man by the name of Luke Cage, and the new ownership of Harlem's Paradise by one known only as Shades.

Eyeing him from the corner of her eye as he stalked toward the staircase, she had to admit then and there that he oozed confidence and charm, that he was as handsome as he was feral in that all-black three-piece suit. But that's where her interest had to end. She simply didn't have the time to for a relationship and didn't want a one-night stand with one whom she assumed was a notorious heartbreaker.

Jo turned to Annette who was dressed nicely in a black bodycon dress, hair cute in a cute pixie. "I'm sure I'm just one of many," Jo returned coolly before taking a sip of her mojito.

Annette wasn't so sure of her friend's words. "Mmhmm. We'll see about that."

"What is that supposed to—?"

"Excuse me," a smooth voice said from behind Jo. "I don't believe we've met."

A tingle ran down her spine.

Turning around slowly, Jo came face to chest with Shades himself. Raising her gaze she caught sight of his lazy grin and caught herself just before she returned it. Licking her deep red lips, she arched a brow. "No," she said coolly, returning his question at last, "we haven't."

He extended his hand. "Shades."

Not wanting to be rude, she tucked her clutch under her arm and shook his hand. Heat shot through their palms. "Joanne."

"Joanne," he repeated silkily, loving the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Joanne." Still holding her hand, he surprised her by leaning down and kissing the back of it.

He was most definitely a heartbreaker.

"You too. Tell me, what kind of name is Shades?" She looked him over. "Peccant, perhaps?"

Sinful. She had called his alias, sinful. He cocked his head to the side, his grin stretching into a smile. "It's somethin' like that."

"I see."

She had the softest skin imaginable. Trailing his thumb along the back of her hand, he clasped his other around it. "You seem familiar, Joanne. Are you sure we haven't met before?"

"If we had, I'm sure you would remember me."

He chuckled darkly. Yea, he liked her.

"You can let go of my—"

Quickly he fringed interest in the women around her, resulting to a mindless folly so that he could hold her hand a bit longer. "Are those your friends?"

Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, Jo narrowed her eyes slightly to find all her girls watching her with amused grins. "Yeah."

"Good evening ladies," he called.

"Hello," the girls greeted in unison, their sickly sweet voices making Jo roll her eyes. She just knew Anette was over there silently planning how best to go about the role of matchmaker.

"I take it it's ladies night?" He commented when she met his gaze once more.

"You could say that."

God, she was gorgeous. Her complexion was flawless, rich brown with golden undertones that shone in the light. Taking in her dark almond-shaped eyes, full nose, and shapely lips, Shades had no idea that she spoken until he felt her tug at her hand. A hand he still had a firm grip on.

Eyes soaring from her lips, he said a quick prayer that he wore shades and met her eyes. She was none too pleased. "I'm sorry?" He asked slightly confused and breathless.

Nodding to her hand, she repeated, "I said, 'can I have my hand back please?'"

"My bad," he apologized suddenly bashful, nothing like the killer he was. "I forgot myself." Truth be told he had. Something about her was throwing him off, and he didn't know if it had to do with her immense beauty or something more. All in all, she had an edge; she didn't exactly shy away from him like other women did. Nor did she flock to him. If anything she possessed, like him, a cool indifference that made her a well sought-out prize. A prize that, in this moment, was maddening.

"Here, let me make it up to you. How about a drink for you and your friends, a bottle of Dom Perignon White Gold?"

Jo felt three distinct pairs of eyes on her back as her friends silently screamed at her to say yes. "That won't be necessary." The three pairs of eyes quickly turned to daggers.

"Are you sure?" He asked gently, trying his best not to laugh at the disappointed looks her friends were giving her.

"I'm sure."

Giving him a small smile, she turned to face the stage and took another sip of her cocktail.

From the corner of his eye, Shade saw Quincy motion to him, mirror a dance, and hitch his chin to the dance floor. Shades scoffed. As if he needed pointers from him.

"Hmm," he hummed, leaning against the railing and shoving his hand into his pocket.

"What?"

"Just figuring you out."

Jo gave him her full attention. "Oh, yeah? And what information have you gathered in less than ten minutes?"

"Well, for starters, you don't have a Harlem accent and you're here with your girls who do, which leads me to believe that you've moved. And now, for whatever reason, your back in town, and your friends have taken it upon themselves to show you a good time."

Knowing he had her when her eyes widened in surprised, he suppressed his smile and continued. "Now, you're standing in the V.I.P. section of the most popular club in Harlem, off to the side with a drink you've been sipping since before I approached, telling me that you're a social drinker at most. More than that, you have your pride, you're not going to accept an apology with an expensive bottle of champagne, and I don't think you would be the type to dance with a man who made the blunder, correct?"

She fought to hold back her smile. "That's correct."

"Furthermore, you're not even conversing with your friends, which begs me to ask," he purred leaning in close, seeking out her eyes through his dark lenses, "what exactly are you here for, Joanne?"

It was hard no to wither underneath his scrutiny.

Granted he didn't seem vexed by her silent dismissal when she had faced the stage, she knew that he was truly out to get her now. It was almost laughable. Almost.

"Adrian Younge," she stated with a smirk. "He's headlining tonight."

As if on cue, Adrian appeared on stage and the crowd went wild.

"So you're a fan."

She nodded her head yes.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Anette appeared beside Jo. "Me and the girls are gonna call it a night," she began feigning tiredness. "I have an early day tomorrow," she explained to Shades.

"No problem," he returned playing the role of the gentleman. "Are you all ok to drive home, or do you need a ride?"

"Oh, we're good," Anette rushed to say, shooting Jo a look when she made to interrupt. "Don't worry about us, we have a ride. You and Jo just have fun." Before Jo could argue with her, Anette shot Shades and her a smile and hightailed it out of the V.I.P. section with the others.

Staring at the empty space Anette had vacated, Jo swore she was going to kill her. Slowly.

"Excuse me," she stammered, setting her drink on the table and rooting through her clutch for her phone.

"Everything alright?" Shades asked.

She gave him a tight smile as she searched her phone for the Uber app. "Yeah, it's just that I have any early day tomorrow, too, so..."

Shades saw the well-known icon flash across her screen. "If you need a ride, I'm more than willing to give it to you."

Jo felt her body flush at his words. Snapping her gaze to his she expected a cocky smile, but his expression was neutral. Cheeks blazing, she cursed the fact that she couldn't see his eyes and fully read him.

"It won't be necessary."

Normally he would take the L and move on. So why was his jaw suddenly clinched, the hour blazing brightly in his mind as he told himself it was too late, much too late for her to call an Uber or even a cab to go home? This wasn't him. It wasn't him.

"I'm afraid I'll have to insist," he heard himself say. "It's late. I think it would be best if—" Glass shattered.

Shade's gaze flew to the dance floor to see that a fight broke out.

"Wait here," he instructed while he motioned for two of the security guards to follow him. "I'll be back shortly. Don't leave."

Shades was so used to people following his orders that he didn't even wait for her to agree. Turning on his heel, he bounded down the steps, oblivious to the fact that Joanne was just a few steps behind. And while he headed for the mayhem, she headed for the exit.

Twenty minutes later Joanne found herself wishing she had taken Shades up on his offer.

"Give me your purse, bitch!"

Heart leaping up to her throat, Joanne's eyes darted to the club entrance. It was so late that the crowds had dispersed, only one bouncer at the door who was doing his best to score with a long legged blonde.

"Hey!" The man shouted, waving the knife in his hand erratically. "I ain't playin' with you ass, give me your fuckin' money!"

Carefully she inched back in her heels, putting as much distance between herself and the blade as she could. _Stay calm, Jo._ _Stay calm. Don't lose your head_.

"You think this a fuckin' game!?" He roared, alerting the attention of the bouncer. "Bitch, I will fucking kill you."

She took another step back.

"I'm warnin' you…"

Jo turned and ran.

No sooner had she taken three running steps when strong arms grabbed her from behind. Faster than she could blink, Jo was hoisted off the ground and pulled into a dark alley.

"Shut up!" He yelled when she began screaming.

"Help! Someone plea—" He pressed the tip of the knife against her neck. She froze.

Chest heaving, she willed her heart to still, for her limbs to steady. _Stay calm, Jo. Stay calm. Don't lose your head._

"That's right," he spat dragging her deeper into the alley, "keep your damn mouth shut."

All she could think was if the bouncer had heard her, that if he did would he know which way to look for her? Would he even look at all?

Her train of thought shattered when she heard him sniff at her hair. "Eeck!"

"Damn you smell good!" He tightened his hold around her waist, pressing is hard on against her ass.

 _Stay calm. Stay calm._

Pulling her into the shadows, Joanne was slammed into the brick wall. the breath knocked out of her as she groaned, pain radiating through her chest and head.

The blade cut into her neck and she whimpered, blinking back her tears. _Look for an opening. Don't freak out, look for an opening…_

Alcohol was heavy on his breath. Pressing the knife harder to her neck, he nicked her skin. "Let's see what we got here…" Holding her in place with the knife, his free hand went to the edge of her coat. Seeing the glint of the blade, she greet her teeth his rough hand touched the back of her bare thigh, inching higher. "…damn, you got a—"the pressure on her neck lifted.

Fast as lighting, she gripped the wrist of the hand that held the blade and twisted, pulling it away from her. Next, she slammed her spiked heel down on his foot. He howled at the pain. "Son of a bitch!"

The satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage echoed throughout the alley. She had rammed the back of her head into his nose, breaking it.

Roaring in pain, he dropped the knife and sunk to the ground, covering his face with his hands.

Taking off like a speeding bullet, she raced back down the alley.

Twice she nearly tripped and fell to the ground, but she caught herself in time. Adrenaline soaring through her veins, she ran faster, the wind whipping past her. _Almost out_ , her mind repeated, her eyes focused on the clearing. _Almost out_ —a strong hand gripped her arm.

Fear almost made her freeze up. Fight or flight kicked in. Knowing her assailant had a knife, she wasn't going to give him the chance to take her again, knowing he would kill her this time.

Spinning, she brought her arm up in an arc, hand fisted as she delivered a perfect right hook, at full force.

The grip on her slackened and she pulled her other arm free.

Tired of running, she kicked off her heels and put up her dukes. "Come on!" She taunted, poised and ready for a fight.

Light from a streetlight, shined behind her. So far gone was she that it took her a second or two to get her focus. But she saw him, shoes gleaming in the light, the rest of him twisted in the shadows.

A deadly sound escaped a cross between a deep sigh and a low growl.

The man advanced, and the second the point of his chin came into view, she attacked. He sidestepped her next punch, ducking back into the shadows. He emerged quickly and she advanced. Bobbing and weaving, she seemed to dance around the figure, landing some blows while he dodged others.

It didn't even cross her mind that the man moved differently, graceful, predatorial, or that he wasn't leading her into the shadows but pushing back in a way that led to the light, inching her toward safety.

"You done?!" He barked when she threw another punch.

"Not even fucking close!" She fired back.

Her earlier blow into the wall had made one of her contacts come out. Squinting she was barely able to make out his silhouette in the orange glow of the streetlamp.

"I'm not—" She landed a solid punch to his body that made him grunt.

That was the last straw. Throwing himself at her, he crushed her to him with ease, pushing her out of the alley, past the sidewalk, and out into the street.

 _What the hell was he doing? Was he going to throw her in front of a damn car?!_ Fight increasing, she threw her weight around until he was forced to drop her.

"Joanne, it's—" She punched him twice, giving two quick jabs, the ol' one-two just like her father had taught her.

Head flying back, he stumbled as a crunch echoed throughout the air.

Fists still up, Joanne panted, bouncing on her feet. _Come on_ , her mind screamed. _Come on_ … His head was still tilted back, and her eyes flew to his empty hands. _Where was the knife?_ Her gaze flew to the ground. Did he drop—she caught sight of the dark lens.

Joanne stilled.

Eyes glued to the misshapen piece of dark glass, a single thought rung out like a gunshot in her mind: her attacker wasn't wearing glasses. And worse, this man knew her name.

Slowly she raised her gaze. _Holy. Shit._

Jaw clenched tightly, Shades glared at Joanne through the cracked opening of his sunglasses, his hickory brown eyes blazing with anger.

Joanne opened her mouth and closed it when she swore she saw fire leap from his eyes. He was furious.

Staring at her startled figure Shades struggled to keep his temper in check. After diffusing the scuffle at the club, he headed back to find her gone. Not letting it go, he questioned the bouncer who told him the direction she had walked off in. When he didn't see her, he thought she had taken a cab and went home. Just when he turned to go back inside, he heard her scream.

So many screams he had heard throughout his life, yet none of them propelled him into action as hers did.

Removing his glasses from his face, he felt his jaw tick when another piece of glass fell away.

"I am so… sorry!"

Ignoring her words, he looked at his ruined sunglasses, struggling to bring them into focus.

"But you see, I t-thought you were—I was attacked. I didn't know it was… I am so sorry—"

Despite wanting to fling her from a great precipice, his voice was calm, gravelly yet calm, when he spoke, "You hit me."

He barked a laugh that made her jump a foot in the air.

"Haha!" His eyes found hers. "I can't believe you really hit me."

Who would have thought that such a beautiful pair of eyes were hidden behind such dark glasses? Feeling her skin heat up, she tore her eyes away. Glancing behind him to the alley, she motioned him to come forward. "C'mon, we should go in case he comes back. And," she patted her empty pockets, "I'm going to need a phone to call the police-" Joanne cocked her head to the side. "What did you just say?" She prayed she heard him incorrectly.

Holding her gaze for a spell, he smiled. "I said you have one hell of an arm on you, Jo. And," he continued, closing the distance between them until he towered over her, "you owe me a new pair of shades." And like the bastard he was, he going to make sure he was given his due.

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Thanks for reading, please leave a review.


	2. Tongue Slips & Omens

**Author's note:** Hello! This fic has the smallest amount of viewers, but you guys send me the most private messages, it's insane lol. Anyway, sorry for the late update. I do hope you enjoy this chapter, keep in mind that it's 17 pages, so pace yourself! Also, we have **TWO NEW CHARACTERS;** for Gianni, imagine Chazz Palminteri, and for Santino, imagine Benicio del Toro. Enjoy

 ***** Crazystar662, this is for you.

* * *

 **Tongue Slips & Omens**

Dawn's early glow fell over Harlem. Nestled in the corner of an Italian bakery, Shades stared out the window, watching as a red-orange hue began to pour out across the sky. Though he never let on early mornings such a these were his favorite. Growing up on the streets, he had a number of close calls. After everything he had seen, everything he had experienced, it didn't matter how long the night stretched, he always made it through to see the dawn. Didn't take long for that dawn to become his testament of strength, his will to survive.

Resting back in his chair, he eyed the buildings across the street, eyes slowly roaming over the darkened storefronts. Mentally he went over his agenda for the day, primarily the meeting he was to have with Alexander Kuznetsov.

Kuznetsov was the head of the Russian Bratva, and one of the leading arms dealers on the East Coast. Paranoid to a fault, Kuznetsov always needed gentle handling, which meant Shades and his men would have to keep their movements and speech to a minimum least they wanted a bullet in their skull. After the meeting, Shades would then drop off Mariah's payment, giving her the extra cash and power she needed to muscle her way through the grim life that is politics. Next was a house call for Lawrence, and then…

The first rays of gold and yellow broke through the spaces of the buildings and poured out on his face. Despite the intense beauty of the light, Shades saw another shade, one far stronger. In his mind's eyes, the rays began to flow, curving into a voluptuous silhouette, where it then sparkled. It had only been a few days since the incident, but Joanne's image never left his mind. And it was there that he saw her, seeing not her dancing on the balcony, but sitting in his office, swallowed up in a plush leather chair…

 _…xXx…_ xXx _…xXx…_

"I don't make promises lightly."

Lifting her gaze from her trembling hands, Joanne followed the sound of Shade's voice.

Having escorted her to his office no more than an hour ago, he had since closed the club, phoning the police where she then gave a full report of what took place. What Joanne believed to be the doings of an honest, upright citizen, was nothing more than the work of a puppet and puppeteer; the cops who took the report were on Shades' payroll. And as sad as it may be, Shades knew that that was the only way she would receive justice. After all, how many crimes were reported in a day? How many men walked the streets looking just like her attacker? Sure the police might patrol area, just a few times to feel like they've done their job. But after that patrol ended, what then? The truth of the matter was that for better or worse Harlem watched over Harlem, the people looked out for and protected their own. Criminal or not, it was an oath that Shades took to heart.

"I'm sorry?" She called, all but buried in a brown leather chair.

"Promises," he reiterated, emerging from a small bathroom located just off to the side and drying his hands on a towel, "I don't make them lightly."

"I mean what I say, and say what I mean." He paused in his actions, his dark eyes, still uncovered since the incident, locking on hers as a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "Always." Sure there was always a double meaning to the man who cleverly weaved truth and lies, yet when he spoke he meant whatever he said… at least in that moment!

"I'll find him," he told her. "I promise."

Suddenly she grew skittish, peering around the office as though her attacker would appear at any moment. "D-do you think he's still out there?"

Shade's shook his head. "No. He's not."

"How can you be so certain?"

 _Because had you got the best of me, running would have been the next course of action, that and revenge._ "He robbed and assaulted you. " A muscle in his jaw flexed, a red haze threatening to creep in from the corners of his sight. "…you got away."

Heading back toward the bathroom, he called over his shoulder, "There's no chance he would stick around to finish the job, that's not how a thief operates."

"And you know that how?"

Hearing the sharp suspicion in her voice he turned around.

Blood matted her hair along her temple, her dress was torn, feet bare and dirty. If her physical appearance wasn't enough to speak of the trauma she had experienced, her eyes were; they were as large and round as the moon, the lights from up above shining madly, making her image all the more haunting.

Seeing her like that made his gut tighten. Silently he vowed to torture the bastard responsible, to do to him what he had done to Cornell and countless others: to beat him within an inch of his life, to hit him again and again and again until his hand grew numb and his arm tired. Only then would he feel as though justice had been served. Though if he were, to be honest with himself, he knew there would always be anger inside for what had happened to her, which was a thought that puzzled him.

"I grew up in Harlem, living on the streets," he told her, surprising them both with that little detail of his life. "And I've…seen it all."

He shook his head slightly as though to shake away the memories. "The streets are unforgiving, every mistake yields a dangerous consequence. Just like your mistake was going out alone, his was underestimating you. Had he been a murderer and not a thief, you would be dead."

His eyes bore into her own. "Lucky for you Jo, you kept a clear head and fought him off."

Joanne sat up straighter, arms wrapping around herself as the full realization of her actions fell upon her. Instantly she felt nauseous. She could have been killed. Why the hell hadn't she waited for the taxi at the club, why had she gone on her own?!

"Don't beat yourself up," he said drawing her attention back as he made his way over to the wet bar.

"He may not end his career of petty theft," he sang, making her laugh despite herself, "but he'll think twice before he robs someone again." He glanced over his shoulder, eyes locking with hers. "At least I know I would."

She gnawed at her lower lip. "I'll remember that…"

"Here," he offered, holding in his hand a glass of amber liquid. "It's not enough to make you forget, only what you need to take the edge off."

Joanne stared at the drink with weary eyes. Wine was her drink of choice, along with fruit cocktails that held twice as much alcohol under the facade of sweetness and tang, allowing her to drink without feeling the burn she knew that glass held. Part of her said to decline the drink and keep that level head, as for the other part…

Assessing him with her eyes, she felt no fear. Sure he oozed a sort of dark charisma and towered over her, but he wasn't threatening. Hadn't he come to her aid? Furthermore, didn't he carry her, literally pick her up from the ground and carry her to the club and call the police, not leaving her side until her report was finished. This wasn't a man to fear but one she could trust, she told herself.

She accepted the glass. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he returned softly.

"Is whiskey alright?" He asked when she hesitated. "If you prefer something else, I could—" he broke off when she downed the double shot.

"Sweet Mother of God!" She shouted.

A vicious burn swept through her chest. Coughing she blinked back tears. How could people drink this stuff?!

"You were supposed to sip it," he told her, struggling to hold back his grin.

"Well—aghs!" She coughed again.

Swallowing back his laughter, he took the glass and inclined his head to the bar. "Can I make you another?" He asked teasingly.

She shook her head frantically. "Oh, God no!"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "Suit yourself."

"Tell me," he began setting the empty glass down on the desk, "where are you from, Jo?"

"Harlem," she answered.

"Which part?" He continued smoothly, ducking back into the bathroom.

"Morningside Heights."

Morningside Heights was home to a special sort of residents, mainly those who were college bound and with money to spare. "Impressive," he declared. "Let me guess, Barnard College?"

"No, Columbia."

Now he was really impressed. Just what was a Columbia grad doing in his club?

"What did you study?" He inquired next, voice rising slightly as he searched through the cabinets.

"You ask a lot of questions."

Smiling to himself, he moved a loaded Glock to the side and grabbed the first aid kit.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, entering the room with the first aid kit in hand. "Asking a lot of questions, well…" He gave her a devilish smile. "It's in my nature."

Letting the matter drop, he placed the kit on the desk and rifled through its contents.

Donning gloves, he inspected her face. "The smaller scratches will heal on their own, just need to keep em clean. As for that one… I'll need a closer look."

"Is that fine?" He asked as he approached her slowly.

Yeah, she could trust him. If only for the simple fact that he was cautious, acknowledging her sudden unease while simultaneously respecting her boundaries while he tried to aid her.

Pulling her lips into a smile, she waved him on. "That will be alright."

Standing before her, he reached out and cradled her face in his hands. His heat pierced through the gloves, warming her skin. His voice lowered an octave becoming husky. "Let me know if anything I do hurts."

Joanne's lips parted at his words. If she hadn't have taken that drink, she would have sworn there was a double meaning to his words, a promise for something to come.

Gathering her wits, she cleared her throat. "O—ok."

He worked as though he had all the time in the world. Gingerly he gripped her chin, turning her head this way and that, studying her with an unblinking eye. Twice he caught her curious eye, staring at her until she felt her face heat up and she had to peel her eyes away. Heaven help her, she would never get used to that stare.

"Is it bad?" She asked filling the silence between them. "It's bad, isn't it? That's why you're not saying anything."

His thumb swept along her brow soothingly, once, twice, a third time. "No," he answered at last. "It's not bad at all."

Releasing her, he retrieved gauze and saline from the kit. He instructed for her to keep her head tilted back. "I'm going to flush it out. It shouldn't sting," he rushed to add.

He moved to stand beside her chair. "So you grew up in Morningside Heights, went to Columbia, but have no Harlem accent. How'd that happen?"

"My father took on a new job when I was young, packed us up and moved out to Los Angeles. I came back for school."

"Didn't want to stay?"

A wistful look fell over her. "I made plans to, however, life got in the way. A year or so after graduation I moved back home."

Silently he reflected on her words.

Moving around to the other side he carefully flushed the wound, gently cleaning the area around it. "What did you study?"

"Psychology."

He tossed the soiled gauze in the trash and applied ointment on the wound. "That's a pretty extensive field, what's your specialty?"

"Behavioral Psychology."

"And do you have your own practice or work for an agency?"

"How do you know all of this?" She asked suddenly.

Placing a band-aid over her injury, he removed his gloves. "Know all of what?"

She pointed to her bandaged temple. "This." She grinned. "You don't look like a doctor or a nurse." Her eyes fell to his hands.

Before Shades could pinpoint her next move, her hands shot out and gripped his. Stunned by her action, Shades was helpless to do anything other than what she asked. Eyes glued to her face, he watched as she narrowed her eyes, her hawk-eyed gaze roaming over his hands.

Humming to herself she traced a nasty scar on the back of his right hand with her fingertip. "I knew it," she spoke aloud.

"Know what?" He heard himself asking.

Her eyes found his. He expected to see pity or even disgust, but instead, he saw something akin to pride.

Eyes glittering, she eyed his scarred knuckles once more and said, "you're a fighter."

"I mean, I should have realized in the alley, but…" Laughing softly, she shook her head."I know I was a little high up on adrenaline, but you were able to keep up with my footwork—which is no easy feat."

Pausing, she studied him. "Where did you learn to box?"

No one had ever asked him that. Everyone simply assumed that he had learned everything he knew from the streets. While the basics could be learned that way, his footwork proved otherwise, proof that he had stepped into the ring at some point in time.

"Was it your dad?" She asked when he remained silent.

Shades shook his head no.

Absentmindedly, her thumb traced the scar on the back of his hand. "Hmm…older brother?" She inquired next.

"Anacleto wasn't much of a fighter."

The second the words left his mouth, he wanted to pull them back from the air and swallow them. Never had he let such a vital piece of information slip. Never.

"Anacleto? Your brother's name is Anacleto?" Her lips curved into a genuine smile. "What kind of a name…" Her words trailed off as her smile fell from her face. "Shades?"

He was staring right at her, no, he was staring through her.

At the slip of his brother's name, Shades began to disassociate. It was like she didn't exist anymore, all he could see was beat-up red sneakers and blood-stained jeans. That death, Cleto's death, was the catalyst to Shade's downfall, the final straw that forced him to adapt to the criminal underworld.

"Shades," she called again. Releasing his hands, she rose to her feet. "Shades." No response.

He inhaled sharply.

Pulled from his thoughts, he blinked her into focus and felt his breath flee his body. She was standing on tiptoe, her hands cradling his face, eyes focused on his own, seeing… _everything_.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Are you alright?"

Desperately Joanne tried to decipher the flurry of emotion that swept through his unguarded eyes. Shock, anger, pain… shame? All of it came and went so fast that she didn't know if it was really there or imagined.

"What's wrong?" She asked, fear creeping into her voice as her eyes darted over his visage.

Pity. After his mishap he expected to see pity or at the very least hear a false apology for having brought up bad memories, instead, he saw concern, genuine concern. It shook him to the core.

"I'm fine," he said at once.

Pulling her hands away from his face, he took a step back. "Really, I'm alright." He cleared his throat. "It's been a long night, my mind slipped."

"Are you sure, you didn't look—" he held up a hand, effectively silencing her.

"Joanne, I'm fine," he stressed.

Silently she watched as those eyes of him became guarded once more, his annoyance disappearing with all the other emotions she saw.

Giving her a wide berth, he picked up his discarded jacket and shrugged it on. It took every ounce of control not to throw her out the door, more importantly, to not threaten her, to force her to never repeat the name she had heard.

"C'mon," he called, holding the door open for her. "Let's get you home."

Wordlessly she had followed him out the door and into the car. Not a word was spoken between them, and for that he was grateful. How many years had passed without him mentioning that name and in one night, it rolled so effortlessly off his tongue. You would have thought he took a brick wall to the face, not her.

"This it?" He asked when he pulled up to an old brownstone.

"Yeah."

He surprised her by cutting off the engine and coming around to her door. "Will you be alright?"

After what had transpired, she didn't know if he was being sincere or issuing a formality."Mhm. Thank you, Shades."

Closing the door behind her, he watched as she all but hauled ass to the front door.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how she was going to get inside. Leaning against the car door he watched as she reached into her coat pocket only to curse under her breath. "Dammit!"

"Need help?"

"No," she snapped.

His eyebrows rose to his temples when he saw her reach into a potted plant and remove a stone, opening it to retrieve a spare key.

Eyes darting from left to right he shook his head. "You've been out of Harlem for far too long, Jo."

"What was that?" She asked looking up to find him making his way back to the driver side.

"Every mistake yields a consequence," he answered. "Be sure to find a new place for that spare key."

Licking his lips, he looked down the darkened street. _Let her go, leave it alone. Nothing good will come of it, and you already slipped up. Let. It. Go._

"Get some rest. I'll come by in a few days to discuss our arrangement."

She was turning into a broken record. "Get some rest? You'll come by in a few days to discuss our arrangement?" He nodded his head. "What arrangement?"

 _…xXx…_ xXx _…xXx…_

Shades smirked as her cry of outrage echoed in his mind. Oh, he never forgot about his sunglass, even with his slip he had no intention of letting the matter drop. _It was the principal of the matter,_ he told himself. Purely principal. So why was he so conflicted?

Anacleto was never far from his mind. And though he hadn't spoken the name aloud in years, he always believed it would take a great act to do so. It had come from him so smoothly, naturally, flowing from his lips like honey. _Anacleto._ He had given her two details of his life like they were nothing, the first that he grew up in Harlem, more specifically on the streets, and second, that he had a brother. While the first could be dismissed, the second proved to be a problem. Only a selected few new that name, any more and the world he had carefully built could crumble at his feet.

"Something on your mind?"

The smokey baritone broke Shades from his thoughts.

Sitting up straighter in his chair, Shades peered through white cigar smoke, gazing into the dark brown eyes of Giambattista "Gianni" Loretto.

Gianni Loretto owned Loretto Bakery in New York City. Despite the never ending chime of the gold bell above the door and the warm scent of Italian pastries, the bakery had a specific clientele. Oh, you were more than welcome to order a cannoli and a cappuccino to go, but you were never granted permission to make yourself comfortable, at least not for too long, meaning, if the staff said they were closing for the day, they were closed. Cause a scene and they would lock the doors so you couldn't leave, such was the way of life for an Italian family rooted deep in the mafia.

Having followed in both his father's and grandfather's footsteps, Gianni was a third generation Don who made his empire trafficking guns along the East Coast. I suppose it wouldn't take much to wonder how they trafficked their weapons, I mean, who doesn't love a good cupcake, especially if it delivers.

As a businessman, Gianni was as sharp as he was ruthless. No one crossed him. Ever. At least no one that lived to tell the tale. Yet more than a cunning businessman was a soul who did whatever he could for those whom he loved, his friends, family, and a special class of souls who bore a bond forged in bloodshed, which is where his son, Shades, fit into the picture. Mama Stokes may have given Shades his start but Gianni made him family.

"Wouldn't be plans for taking over Harlem, is it?" Gianni persisted when Shades gave no reply.

Sunlight shone through the window, hitting his salt and paper hair and highlighting the intensity of his dark eyes. Biting the end of his cigar, he pushed up the sleeves of his navy button down and leaned across the table.

Removing the cigar, he held it between two fingers and pointed it at Shades. "Are you trying to take over Harlem?" He asked pointedly.

Shades answer was quick."No."

Smoke rose to the ceiling. Letting the silence linger, Gianni narrowed his eyes at Shades. "You're a lot of things kid, but a bad liar ain't one of em."

"And what's the matter with you, you know better." He tipped his chin his shades direction. "Off."

Shades removed his sunglasses without question.

Gianni let out a low whistle when he caught sight of Shades' black eye. "See what happens when you try to take over Harlem?"

Shades barked a laugh. "Yeah… Well," he shrugged his shoulders, rubbing at his brow, "this ain't got nothin' to do with Harlem."

Gianni grunted in response. "Humph. If it ain't got nothin' to do with Harlem, what's the cause?"

Shades couldn't stop the twitch of his lips. All these years and Gianni was still protective of the little boy he had stumbled upon. It had been right after Mama stokes had died. Shades was old enough to know the ropes but too young to make himself known. Gianni took him in. His loyalty was proven time and time and again and each time he rose higher in the ranks. Had he had a drop of Italian blood in his veins, he knew Gianni would have made him his second. But because he was just a Puerto Rican kid from Harlem, he was given the respect and love from a father to son, which if you asked him was worth a hell of a lot more.

"This got anything to do with Alexander Kuznetsov?"

It should have come to no surprise that Gianni knew about his dealings, he was always three steps ahead of the game. Even after all this time Shades had no clue how Gianni got his information, many said he had ties with the FBI and CIA, but he couldn't be sure.

Knowing it would be pointless to deny it, Shades confessed. "No."

A hint of a smile came to Gianni's lips. "Are you sure, Hernan?"

Shades groaned inwardly have having been called by his given name. "Positive, Gianni."

Gianni tutted. "Gianni, c'mon, what are we? Gianni…" He shook his head disappointed.

Holding his hands up in surrender, Shades amended his words. "Sorry, pop."

"That's better."

Tapping his ashes into the tray, Gianni took a sip of his cappuccino, eyeing Shades from above the rim. "You gonna tell me about this deal or do I have to beat it out of you?"

On second thought, Shades did know how Gianni got his information, he was just, for lack of a better word, nosey as hell. "Same deal we established when I worked for Diamondback."

There was always something more. "How much does he want?"

Shades told him the price.

Gianni scoffed. "Fuckin' jerkoff. Ya know you could have come to me."

"Business has no place between family."

Pleased by the lesson that had been instilled in him, Gianni nodded his head approvingly. "While that may be true, you know if you ever need anything, _anything_ ," he stressed, "all you have to do is ask."

There wasn't a doubt in Shades' mind that if asked Gianni wouldn't lay waste to Kuznetsov's entire operation. Hell, a war had been brewing between the two for decades! Him going to Gianni would be the perfect excuse the older man needed to go to war.

"Thanks, pop, but I can handle it. Even with the slight increase…"

"Slight increase? That ain't no slight increase!"

"…I know the business," Shades declared. "I know how to run this operation like the back of my hand. Trust me. Everything you taught me isn't wasted, pop, I know how to play the game."

Running his fingertip along the edge of his cup, Gianni meditated on Shades' words. "You'll have to be careful," he warned him. "This whole…fiasco with Cage and Diamondback, it's got the city on edge." He looked to Shades. "The police, FBI, CIA, their gonna be breathin' down all our necks."

Shades had been thinking the same exact thing. A bulletproof man, and another who possessed weaponry far more advanced than the world had seen, it was enough to turn the world on its axis.

"Keep your circle small," Gianni instructed. "This deal between you and Kuznetsov it should be the only one—just for the time being. Kuznetsov's a paranoid lil prick, so he'll watch his end, but he'll have no problem seeing that your ass gets kicked, you understand?"

"I understand."

"To be honest, Hernan, Quincy is the only one I trust who's on your side."

Shades turned his attention Quincy who was sitting across Gianni's bodyguard, Santino, a handsome middle-aged gentleman who had to have the highest body count in the entire east coast.

Together the two killers were sharing a plate of pastries and in one vicious chess battle, one that Shades believed went on for months at a time as they took forever to make a move.

"I see things, and I hear even more," Gianni said bringing Shades' focus back to him. "Everyone has a price Hernan, and we're reaching the point where the US government is willing to pay any and everyone for information. So when I tell you to keep your circle small, I mean to put that shit in a line, you," he pointed at shades, "and him," he pointed to Quincy. "That's who you trust in your operation, no one else. Whoever you're bringing in, whoever you choose to replace, remember they weren't always there and can't be trusted."

Gianni was old school if you didn't shed blood together and on a regular fuckin' basis, then you weren't shit. Simple as that.

"Two is enough to take over a couple city blocks, but is it enough for a two-man crew to take over Harlem? I don't know."

Shades didn't hesitate. "It is when you have the Loretto family standing behind you."

Pride made Gianni's eyes grow warm. "And you do," he assured Shades.

Motioning for the waiter, he signaled for another cappuccino. "You're not a bambino anymore, I can't hold your hand even if I want to. So you do you what you have to do but lay low. Keep your ears and eyes open, and when the time comes, you make your move, and you strike. And once you strike…"

"…you keep on hitting," Shades finished.

"Exactly."

Chuckling to himself, Gianni sipped at his drink and leaned back in his chair. "That Russian bastard won't know what hit him, and Harlem won't either."

It would never be said but if Shades took control of Harlem, it would be an extension of Gianni's territory, mostly because Shades was considered an extension of Gianni. Such a thing could anger most men who were power hungry but Shades wasn't that type. He didn't want power, that is for people to fear him, he wanted control. Control is a funny thing when you don't have it you're a puppet on a string. But when the opportunity arises, when control is finally in your grasp, you realize your not the puppet, nor are you the one pulling the strings, but the craftsman, molding each doll as you see fit. And that's what he wanted: to run Harlem as he saw fit, smoothly, orderly like a well-oiled machine. And if he needed the Loretto name to do it, then so be it.

A calm acceptance of what was to come fell over the two men.

Stubbing out his cigar, Gianni folded his hands. "So," he began causally, "who's this girl that gave you the black eye?"

Shades choked on his coffee.

"Oh, it's just like I said," Gianni continued with an innocent shrug of his shoulders, "I see things, and I hear even more."

Cutting his eyes to Quincy, Shades received the man's slight head shake and knew that someone else had informed Gianni. Jesus, all he needed was for word to get out that he got his ass handed to him by a woman. Granted she was one hell of a woman, it was a low blow to his reputation, one he couldn't handle.

"Don't worry, I took care of it once the news came to me." Translation: the messenger was shot.

Gianni motioned to Shades as if to say, 'well?'

Either Shades could tell Gianni all he knew about Joanne, which truthfully wasn't much, or he could leave Gianni to his own devices. It never bothered him before, strangely it did now. He didn't want Gianni digging into her past, he wanted to find out for himself, see what it was about her that had him losing his cool and holding onto a payment for sunglasses he could buy a hundred times over.

Quickly Shades gave Gianni the rundown.

Pursing his lips, Gianni eyed Shade's bruised eye. "Seems to me that she made one hell of a first impression."

Shades made no comment, which was just as telling as the truth.

"These women seem to be getting the best of you, first the cop, now this girl—"

Shade's voice was razor sharp. "No one gets's the best of me. That cops gonna get hers, and as for Joanne, she's nothing I can't handle."

Where their mistakes made when Gianni raised Shades? Yes, of course. However, Gianni raised him the best way he knew how, and he knew under the ruthless indifference was something soft. Shades would deny it to the end, but that didn't mean a softer side didn't exist. While it wasn't that Gianni didn't want Shades happy, he did, he didn't want him to lose his head, and, well, lose his fuckin' head literally. And given the harshness of tone that Shades had dared to use, he knew that his steel focus was still there, and it was for that reason, and that reason alone, that Gianni conceded.

"Alright," Gianni drawled with a roll of his shoulders. "You say she ain't nothin' you can't handle, she ain't nothin' you can't handle, who am I to say otherwise?"

Suddenly Santino appeared beside their table. "Sorry to interrupt but, Gianni, we have an appointment."

Gianni and Shades stared at each other in silence. In that silence was an entire conversation, one that ended with Gianni's deep sigh. "Remember what I told you," he said rising from his chair, "keep your head down, and your circle in a straight line."

Rising from his own chair, Shades embraced the older man.

"Head down," Gianni repeated when they parted.

"Head down, pop."

Ten minutes later, Shades was seated in the passenger side of his car, watching as the city flew right on by.

"Did he mention the deal?" Quincy piped up.

"Of course."

Switching between radio stations, Quincy asked, "And the girl?"

"Mhm."

"Could be nothing," Quincy suggested.

Shades snickered. "You don't believe that for a minute."

Quincy was silent for a moment. "It's just not like you."

And that was the problem: it wasn't like him; going after a woman who rejected him, using his contacts, his rats in blue, to open a case on her behalf, and tending to her injury himself… It wasn't him.

"There's more to me than meets the eye, Splash."

Finally finding a station he liked, Quincy leaned back more comfortably in the driver seat, the sounds of _Camino a Batabano_ filling the space around them. "That is true, brotha, that is most definitely true. Then again, that's true for everyone, is it not?"

Choosing not to comment, Shades stared out the window. It was just a warning, Quincy and Gianni's words, so why did it feel like a bad omen?

* * *

Now we are getting somewhere. I wonder what kind of profession Joanne has, hmm... Oh well, thanks for reading. Be sure to leave a review!


	3. Life Update

Hey you guys, I just wanted to give you an update on everything that's been going on recently…

Actually, I'm just going to jump right out and say it. I suffer from depression. I tried to manage it on my own, however, added stress and family trouble had me reaching new lows. I seriously contemplated, and nearly carried out, taking my own life. I am happy to say that I have since gotten help, found a wonderful therapist, and am in a much better place. So know that I have not abandoned my story and that I will finish it. I'm going to try to release an update by Christmas, but if not, the beginning of next year.

Thank you for every follow, favorite, and comment. Even when I was at my lowest, your comments helped to lighten my mood.

Hope you all have wonderful holidays.

Talk to y'all again with my next story update!

-Cynthia


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